


It's Taken Me All This Time to Say, Girl

by kikitheslayer



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, First Kiss, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8964721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikitheslayer/pseuds/kikitheslayer
Summary: Frankie's crush is stupid.





	

Everyone thinks Frankie and Annie are dating. Frankie doesn’t mind, exactly. The rumors are annoying, sure, and a little bit hurtful, but she doesn’t mind that it’s Annie the crowds of her Colorado public high school have latched onto as the perfect mate for Frankie the Lesbo.

Frankie doesn’t mind because she thinks Annie is cool. Frankie likes doing homework at her house, and picking her up from parties where she doesn’t belong, and baking cookies with her, and listening to her blabber on about Troy Barnes.

Mainly, though, Frankie doesn’t mind because there’s nothing ridiculous about the thought of them together, nothing embarrassing. They’re matched misfits, twin souls in loneliness. Annie is shrill and tense and hurdling toward a breakdown. Frankie is an awkward, quiet stickler. They both like rules and good grades and other girls a little too much.

If there’s one thing Frankie doesn’t find the least bit shameful, it is the realistic.

It’s why Frankie will never tell anyone about her real crush -- not even Abed, who keeps telling her to watch Pretty in Pink and that everything is possible in your last year of high school.

It’s just so… stupid that she should like Britta. _Stupid_ , Frankie thinks, her big vocabulary failing her for once, _that is the perfect word_. Britta is blonde and gorgeous and cool. She owns a leather jacket and case full of Radio Head albums and has a side business selling fake IDs.

Ever the hall monitor, Frankie knows she shouldn't love her. She's not supposed to even like kids like her, kids who cut class and talk back to teachers and reek of weed. But Britta is everything Frankie isn’t, everything she wishes she could be. Britta is strong, and confident, and outspoken, and she’s not afraid of anything.

Britta isn't popular either. But Britta wouldn't want to be. She thinks prom is a weapon of the patriarchy. She's the cool side of nonconformity.

\--

Britta offered her a hit once. Frankie walked into the bathroom while Britta was lighting up. Frankie was about to leave, to shake her head and mutter an apology, but Britta surprised her.

"Frankie, right?"

Britta knew her name.

"If I have to listen to Chang explain the difference between _ser_ and _estar_ again, I’m gonna blow my brains out." She held out the joint. "Want one?"

Frankie shook her head. "I have to get back to class. She started to leave, turned around, gave a fluttery half-wave. "Nice to see you, Britta."

 _God_ , she was lame.

It doesn't matter anyway. Frankie will be gone by June, and Britta's only a junior, but she'll probably be gone even sooner. Britta will never know, couldn't know. Frankie doesn't mean shit to her. If Britta were going to date beyond hookups -- right now Britta seems to think relationships are the product of complacency toward the Man -- it would probably be with Jeff Winger, the senior in Frankie's speech class who likes to ditch and smoke with Britta, even if he would never self-identify with her anarchist crowd.

\--

Frankie waits tables year-round at one of those places you take kids for their birthdays, but only the bratty ones. It's good money, even if the manager is rude and the tips are bad and the uniform is degrading. At least she doesn't have to wear a costume.

The last thing she's expecting on a weekday night near closing is Britta, followed by the whole crew of her friends, loud and rowdy. Frankie is swearing in her head and a little under her breath when Britta gives her a little half-apologetic smile and Frankie's heart melts.

Britta steers them to a table, yelling something over the racket made by quarter machines and screaming children. 

Frankie feels like she's floating in the walk to take their order.

"Hey," yells the boy across from Britta, "Frankster! So who knew this is how you spent your Friday nights?"

Frankie feels her cheeks heating up and she wants to run away but --

"It's Monday, dumbass," says Britta. She kicks him under the table and turns back to Frankie. "Sorry about Vaughn, Frankie. He was raised in a barn."

"It's fine." She takes the order, her eyes darting back to Britta whenever she thinks she can get away with it. Britta keeps smiling at her. Frankie holds onto each one in her head.

\--

The next night Britta came in again, alone. Every night after that, in fact, all week.

Eventually, Friday night, as Frankie is bringing her check, Britta says, "So, when's your shift end?"

Frankie glances at the clock on the wall, then at her fluorescent apron, then at the girl sitting in front of her. “I can quit.”

\--

Frankie isn’t sure what a “Britta Perry date” is supposed to entail. (Well, if this is a date at all, which, she reminds herself, it might not be.) She’d always assumed it would involve some drinking, breaking and entering, and maybe driving at midnight in a convertible with her hands up.

Instead, sitting in the passenger seat of Britta’s car -- closer to a Volvo than a convertible -- Frankie is surprised to see that Britta looks nervous. She keeps laughing at nothing. “What do you want to do?” she asks.

“Um,” says Frankie at first, and then tries to make her voice sound normal, “whatever you want to do.”

“Okay, just… go with it, okay?”

\--

Frankie is lost for words.

The little gray kitten is nuzzling itself against her sweater, and there’s a second one pawing at her skirt. They’re adorable and soft and almost as perfect as the girl who drove her there.

“Do you do this a lot?” she asks, eyes still fixed on the kitten.

“I volunteer here,” Britta says, playing with an animal of her own. Then, almost defensively, she says, “It’s a good cause. These animals _need_ people to watch out for them.”

Frankie is smiling at her as she says, “So you’re… kind of a dork.”

Britta beams back.

\--

The parking lot is dark, and Britta has to fumble for her keys in her bag. “So,” she says, looking down. “Best date ever?”

Frankie is glad Britta can’t see her blush. “Definitely.” And then, because Britta has finally found the keys, or because the moon is really nice that night, or just because she wants to and can, Frankie steps forward and kisses Britta, soft at first, chaste. Britta takes a step backward against the car, kisses Frankie back.

And for once, Frankie stops thinking.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Back Pocket" by Vulfpeck.
> 
> Written for Community Rarepair Bingo. Square: high school au


End file.
